


The Christmas Eve Shift

by KathrynRuthD



Category: Richard Armitage - Fandom, Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Dreams, Gen, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Nightmares, One Shot, Richard Armitage - Freeform, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathrynRuthD/pseuds/KathrynRuthD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lonely and embittered Lucas is called in to work the Christmas Eve shift on the Grid.</p><p>A short AU Lucas North fanfic set before the events of series 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Eve Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: [Spooks], Lucas North and any other characters you may recognise belong to the BBC and Kudos. All original characters and the plot belong to me, with more than a small nod to Charles Dickens.

The sound of a phone ringing rudely awoke him and he rolled over with a groan, groping for it in the darkness without opening his eyes. Once in his hand, he opened one eye and winced at the screen as it flashed brightly in his face. He groaned again when he saw who was calling but reluctantly answered it.

 

"Harry ..."

 

"Oh good ... you're awake," The head of Section D at MI5 was seemingly oblivious to the date, time or the fact that Lucas was taking some well earned holiday.

 

"Not exactly ..."

 

"Well grab a coffee and get yourself on the Grid pronto, something's come up and I need you here."

 

Lucas sighed.

 

"Problem?"

 

"It's 5am on Christmas Eve Harry ... I have plans." As he said it he knew the lie wouldn't make a blind bit of difference. What Harry wanted Harry got. Did it matter if he spent Christmas alone at home with a bottle of vodka or at work with a bucket of coffee? Neither would rid him of the cold emptiness that seemed to have taken root in his soul.

 

"Just get yourself down here now or you'll find yourself manning the weirdo line from now until Easter." The phone went dead and Lucas punched his pillow in frustration.

 

He returned from Russia a couple of years ago but sometimes it felt like he'd never left. MI5 was his life, section D, his family, but it still had a feeling of incarceration about it. He now lived comfortably without torture, deprivation, or fear, but, there was no escape from the clutches of MI5 ... even at Christmas.

 

The thing that had come up was the flu ... three operatives down and Harry it seemed had plans of his own he wasn't willing to break. Lucas suspected they involved Ruth but decided it was best not to ask. Harry was welcome to his cosy little Christmas ... festive cheer was overrated anyway.

 

\--

 

As far as protecting the nation went this had to be the most boring Christmas ever Lucas thought to himself as he stretched his weary limbs. Not that the large bottle of vodka at home would've been any more riveting, it was just that oblivion seemed like a welcome alternative. Eight years in a Russian prison with nothing to indicate it was Christmas except a guard kicking you in the ribs and gloating about spending time with his family had rendered Lucas impotent of festive cheer.

 

He'd done nothing constructive since arriving at the Grid a few hours earlier and, despite the vat of coffee he'd consumed, was in danger of falling asleep where he sat. He stood up and wandered over to the only other person working, a junior officer called Jamie, "I'll be in Harry's office if you need me ... got some phone calls to make."

 

The young man nodded his acceptance without so much as a raised eyebrow and Lucas smiled to himself. The service would soon grind his gullibility down. He wandered into Harry's office, closed the door and shut the blinds. Sitting back in the leather chair he arranged his long legs leisurely on the desk and closed his eyes.

 

\--

 

A warm glow from a window dressed with multi-coloured lights drew him in, and as he gazed through the glass to a familiar scene beyond, he gasped. A large glittering tree with piles of presents underneath was taking up considerable space in the corner of the room and an open fire crackled in the hearth. He pressed his nose to the glass and watched as a door opened and a small figure came rushing in.

 

It was a little boy with a mop of dark hair and a pair of sparkly blue eyes. He was followed by two smiling adults who knelt down next to him in front of the tree and pulled out a large box wrapped in brightly coloured paper and ribbons. He watched the excited child rip the paper off but he already knew what was inside.

 

The big red fire engine with a moveable ladder, retractable hose and bell on top had been Lucas's favourite toy as a child. For years no other present had come close to matching it. He'd spent hours crawling round the house pushing it along, driving his mother mad by ringing the bell and leaving it in doorways for someone to trip over. That Christmas he'd even taken it to bed with him, waking in the morning with a wheel-shaped dent in his cheek. No other toy had ever been so loved, not even his favourite teddy bear.

 

As he watched the little boy hug his parents tightly and saw their indulgent smiles, his eyes stung with unshed tears. How he wished he could be that wide-eyed and innocent child again. He blinked to clear his misted vision and suddenly found himself looking at a very different Christmas.

 

This time there was no window to gaze through, just a barred hole in the wall. The air smelt fetid and he could hear someone retching. Almost too afraid to look he peered into the gloom beyond and shuddered. The damp, cramped cell contained nothing except a filthy blanket in one corner and a bucket in another with a gaunt figure huddled over it. He knew what would happen next and he tried to call out to warn them but he had no voice. There was a loud noise as the door to the cell burst open and two guards appeared shouting in Russian.

 

For a long time Lucas had tried to be strong but with very little food, most of which was mouldy and rotten, any strength he had quickly disappeared. More often than not any food eaten would be brought back up again, either because his stomach rejected it or because the pain and torture he was subjected to made him sick. Sometimes the guards would take pleasure in punishing him for wasting the food by kicking him in the stomach until anything he hadn't already thrown up had left his body.

 

He watched helplessly as the guards dragged him into the middle of the cell and took it in turns to kick him. They aimed their feet at his stomach and groin, causing him to scream and double-up with pain before passing out. They continued to attack him until he regained consciousness and then spat in his face saying "С Рождеством Христовым" before dragging him away.

 

\--

 

Lucas woke with a start and a yell, and rubbing his eyes found his cheeks were wet with tears. He still had regular nightmares and flashbacks but this was different. Watching himself being tortured and not being able to stop it was torture in itself, more so after being reminded of the innocence and happiness of his childhood. Thoughts of both these Christmases past broke his heart and were best forgotten he decided.

 

There was a tentative knock on the door and as it opened Jamie's head appeared, "Err ... everything ok Lucas? I heard a shout."

 

"Yes ... fine ... frustrating phone call," he gestured vaguely in the direction of the untouched telephone. Feeling a faint tinge of guilt he smiled at Jamie, "Coffee?"

 

They chatted about nothing important while replenishing their caffeine levels and scoffing some chocolate biscuits which, judging by their staleness, Lucas suspected had been stuffed in the back of the cupboard since Tom Quinn's days. Energy levels up a little he settled down at his desk to be unproductive again. The odd dream, if not forgotten, firmly pushed to the back of his mind.

 

\--

 

A couple of hours later Lucas was roused from his computer screen by the sound of Jamie's stomach rumbling loudly. "Hungry mate?"

 

"Just a bit," Jamie turned and grinned. "Fancy a pizza? I'll go," he offered.

 

Lucas tossed him some money while smiling inwardly at his obvious desperation to escape the Grid if only for a short while. "Get whatever you like but no anchovies ok?"

 

"Got it ... no anchovies," Jamie nodded before disappearing through the pods.

 

Lucas settled back down at his desk and yawned loudly. How he was supposed to stay awake for ... he looked at his watch ... the next 8 hours, he had no idea. And when he did finish his shift what did he have to look forward to? It would be Christmas Day by the time he got home. Maybe he'd just sleep through it then wake when it was all over breathing a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure why he was so tired, but he felt completely bone-weary. He cupped his jaw and leant on the desk, closing his eyes.

 

\--

 

He hadn't seen his parents for nearly a year. He always used work as an excuse for not travelling up to Cumbria but the truth was the relationship had been strained ever since his return from Russia. They knew he'd been imprisoned there but rather than tell the truth, which he could have done, he chose to let them believe he'd got involved with the wrong people. He decided that he'd rather they thought he'd been caught smuggling drugs than been caught spying for his country. And why? Because telling the truth meant admitting to the torture and he couldn't bear the thought of putting them through that. So he stayed away ... their disappointment in him palpable and heart-breaking.

 

Lucas found himself looking through the same window he stared through before when watching himself as a child. This time, there was still a glittering tree and multi-coloured lights, but there was no joyful excited little boy. He looked away from the tree to the other side of the room where his parents were sat on the sofa. They looked a lot older than he expected and his mother was crying. She was holding a card in her hand. He recognised it immediately as the card he'd hurriedly scribbled in and shoved in a post box two days ago. He remembered clearly what he'd written.

 

_To Mum and Dad_

_Lucas_

 

No 'Merry Christmas' ... no 'with love' ... nothing ... just his name. And seeing them now and the hurt on their faces, he felt horribly guilty and ashamed. He assumed they wouldn't care ... obviously he was wrong. He turned away from the window and sank to the ground, his head in his hands.

 

\--

 

The sound of Jamie coming through the pods with a large pizza box, roused Lucas from his doze. He surreptitiously wiped the tear away that was sliding down his cheek, plastered a smile on his face and wandered over to Jamie's desk.

 

He lifted the lid of the box, "Excellent ... olives!"

 

The pizza was enormous and Jamie consumed by far the greater share. As they finished the last of it Lucas raised an eyebrow, "And I thought I had a big appetite!"

 

"Mum's always telling me I eat like a horse," he looked down at his skinny body grinning, "says I must have a high metabolism ... or I have worms."

 

Lucas smiled but inwardly, he was thinking of similar conversations he'd once had with his own mother a long time ago. He missed his parents ... but it was too late to change anything now ... wasn't it?

 

\--

 

It was midnight when Lucas left the Grid. The fear of having more disturbing dreams had kept him awake for the rest of his shift and he'd tried to put those he'd already had to the back of his mind. Jamie looked at him a little askance when he'd wished him a happy Christmas and told him to be kind to his mum but Lucas had meant it.

 

The streets were full of Christmas revellers, and he lost count of the number of people who wished him a merry Christmas as he walked back to his flat. He smiled his thanks but the smile never quite reached his eyes. He couldn't imagine a life without MI5 but he did wonder what sort of Christmas he'd be having if he'd chosen a different career path. Was the job really worth this cold emptiness?

 

Once home, Lucas poured himself a large vodka, raised the glass to The Ancient of Days print hanging in his living room and then downed it. A few minutes later, he had stripped off and was fast asleep in bed.

 

\--

 

"What's it been like?"

 

"What's what been like?"

 

"Being Lucas North of course!"

 

Lucas stumbled back from the scene before him. He didn't understand. He was Lucas North. But something in the back of his mind was telling him to think again.

 

He seemed to be rushing through scenes of a life he'd not yet lived. Images of himself in situations that seemed impossible to contemplate. John Bateman ... who was that? What he was seeing seemed to suggest that he was John Bateman and yet, he knew that couldn't be true. He was born Lucas North. His parents were Edward and Maria North. Was he adopted? No, he'd seen his birth certificate. His eidetic memory had never let him down before. He was Lucas North. He was dreaming ... just a dream ... surely.

 

His mind shifted and he found himself in a graveyard. The stone in front of him was devoid of any sentiment, it simply showed a name with two dates. The first, was his date of birth, the second, in November next year. The name on the stone was John Bateman.

 

Lucas sat up in bed with a start. He was shaking, his mind in overdrive. Memories he knew weren't his were floating in the back of his mind and as he lay back down and stared at the ceiling, he tried to assemble them into some kind of order.

 

False memories ... he'd had false memories implanted. The realisation struck him like a thunderbolt. In prison they'd not just tortured his body they'd tortured his mind until he couldn't tell fact from fiction. His dream appeared to have been prophetic ... or at least indicative of what could happen if these false memories were brought out in the way they had maybe been intended.

 

He picked up his phone thinking he should maybe call Harry but then it occurred to him that perhaps Harry wouldn't believe him. Instead, he googled the name John Bateman. It seemed a fairly common name but after scrolling down several pages of results he came across a small nondescript website listing a John Bateman as a missing person 'last seen in Dakar in 1994'. He gasped as horrific memories flooded his mind. They definitely weren't his memories. He'd never been to Dakar ... he knew he hadn't. But someone was going to frame him for the bombing of the British Embassy, or use it to blackmail him ... or both.

 

He spent the next few hours sitting in bed sifting through his muddled mind. He wrote down everything he could about his time in prison, going to places in his mind he'd sworn never to visit. It was painful but he knew he had to do it. For the first time in a long time, the way ahead was clear. He knew with complete certainty that he wasn't ready to die, either in the service of his country or branded a traitor.

 

As dawn crept across the sky he picked up his phone, took a deep breath and called Harry, "Lucas, the world better be about to end for you to be calling me at this time on Christmas Day."

 

"Not the whole world," Lucas spoke softly, "Just mine. And no Harry," he anticipated a refusal, "It can't wait."

 

Harry sighed audibly down the phone, "Fine ... you best come over here then."

 

Whoever Harry was spending his Christmas with had made themselves scarce before Lucas arrived. He hoped it was Ruth, for both their sakes.

 

Harry made them some coffee and then listened as Lucas explained everything that he'd remembered. He was shocked and horrified when he realised there was a very real possibility he could have been convinced that Lucas was not who he appeared to be. He was even more shocked to hear the full extent of Lucas's tortures in prison. That he felt guilty was obvious and when Lucas handed over the last thing he'd written before leaving his flat he shook his head sadly before saying, "I understand and I accept, with regret of course, but if it's what you want. They'll have to be an investigation into what you've told me but ... that won't make any difference to this."

 

Lucas nodded, "I need my life back. I need to learn to live again. This job ... it'll kill me Harry ... you know it will."

 

Harry gripped Lucas's hand and clasped his shoulder. You're the best officer I've ever had Lucas, and it's been my privilege to work with you."

 

Lucas had resigned.

 

\--

 

Late on Christmas Day a black Lexus pulled up outside a house with pretty multi-coloured lights around the downstairs window. A tall figure climbed out, nervously made it's way to the front door and rang the bell.

 

After a few moments the door opened. "Lucas?"

 

"Hello Mum ... Merry Christmas."

 

She pulled him into the house and into a fierce embrace before pulling back. She wiped away a small tear, "We weren't expecting you ... it's been been so long ..."

 

"I know ... I need to explain things ... lots of things... but first I need say something to you and Dad."

 

He followed her into the living room where his father was dozing in the armchair. He leant down and put his hand over his father's, "Dad?"

 

"Lucas? Is that really you?" His father jumped with surprise then reached out and gently touched his face.

 

"Lucas wants to say something Edward," his mother sat down.

 

Still clutching his father's hand, Lucas looked at both his parents and then as a tear slid down his face he smiled softly, "I'm so sorry for everything. There's lots I need to tell you but first I need you to know that I love you both very much and that I wish you a very happy Christmas."

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Russian spoken by the prison guards is the equivalent of Merry Christmas, or at least I hope it is!


End file.
